Forty Years of This [Monster Hunter World]

Chapter 31

The stack of papers on his desk seemed to hold more dreadful power over the Commander than anything he'd had to do before. He'd put off writing home for so long that he couldn't actually remember what he'd last told his family, and a large part of him was afraid that his parents had died and no one had told him. Was it better to live detached from them and never know? Or was it better to break through it now rather than wait until he was old and more certain of lost opportunity?

The Quartermaster placed a hot cup of spicy tea next to him, kissed his cheek, and left him to work. Comforted, he began his letter with an apology.

To the family I left behind, I regret that between my duty, distance, and scarcity of opportunity, I have neglected you...

With a wince, he realized he was writing in the same way the Quartermaster often spoke. It was formal-- too formal for a letter to family, but he kept it. He wrote of his daughter, of his old wound, his partner, the arrival of the Third Fleet. He wrote of small trivial things and grand important things, things that wouldn't have mattered if he had kept up with the letters. Casual events, the weather, his hopes. He wrote until he had several pages in the letter, and when he finally had nothing left to say, he sealed it. He didn't know when he might actually have a chance to send it.

There was still work to do that evening, but he debated doing it when he saw the Quartermaster already preparing for bed. The man's striped pajama bottoms were old and worn with soft carefully stitched patches where holes had formed in the fabric. Since their daughter no longer shared quarters with them, the Commander had forgone pajamas entirely. He slept in his underclothes every night that it was warm enough to.

With a hum, he wrapped his arms around the Quartermaster's waist and pressed his forehead into the man's back. The Quartermaster reached around behind him to pat the Commander with one hand while he wiped his face with a damp cloth with the other.

"You're being affectionate, ████. Is this a melancholy affection or a more energetic one?"

"One born of longing, I think." The Commander sighed, squeezed the Quartmaster, then let go of him. "My letter home is complete, and a part of me will always miss them, but what struck me was how that Second Fleet man so happily greeted the Third Fleet Commander. I miss having that."

"You mean ██████? The effective quartermaster for the Second since █████ left? Regardless, you have that with the Admiral."

The Commander paused with his head canted to the side. "You two are on a first name basis?"

"Yes?" The Quartermaster met his look of mild confusion. "Are you not with the Admiral and the rest of the command group? Besides, he's been incredibly helpful. Even before taking on a quartermaster role, he's been very good at directing resources, people, and predicting what's going to be useful. He's been the middle man for the hunters for quite some time now. You should pay more attention to him. At least as much as you give to the other commanders.

"In fact, he has an incredible amount of ties back with the mainland. I'm not entirely sure why he came here with all of his ties back home. The Third Fleet Commander being his sister is no coincidence. While she's a fleet master on her own merit, nepotism gets you farther than skill, and their connections are..." The Quartermaster sighed wistfully. "In another life, I would have been in a similar position."

A flash of jealousy struck the Commander. Seeing his partner of fifteen years openly speak so highly and wistfully about another man tore at him in a horrible way. He thought back to the wyverian man in question-- he was quite handsome. His long dark hair was silver at the temples, and the way he pulled it back in a braid made it streak. He had a particularly noble look about him.

His emotions must have been plain on his face because the next thing he knew, his Quartermaster had taken his chin in his hand and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I would rather live this life here with you in relative social isolation than have to juggle everything he has."

The Commander hummed reassuringly, but that night when they went to bed, he clung to his partner like a man drowning. There was a bruise on the Quartermaster's neck the next morning, but when he saw it in the mirror he merely smiled and ghosted his fingers over it.

The first order of business was to brief the Third Fleet Commander more thoroughly then handle whatever news the hunters brought in from the night. The Commander waited for her and the rest of the team by the council table, and though she arrived swiftly, the Admiral and the Second Commander both staggered in the morning light. The evening had taken a toll on the two of them.

"I understand you are both referred to as 'Commander' by the Commissioners." The Third Fleet's Commander began before the meeting could start. "Does this not create confusion among the ranks?" The Second Commander gave a noncommittal grunt. "I see. Then perhaps it is time we go by more fitting titles for our roles. Perhaps 'Forgemaster' would fit you."

"And for you?" The Commander grinned. He liked the idea of being the only 'commander'.

"As the commander of the research fleet, perhaps Research Master would do. The future commanders of their fleets could be masters of their respective specialties while you are the Commander. In the eyes of the Commission, we hold the same rank, but I have no interest in sharing your duties when there are far more interesting works to be done."

The Admiral had perked up since the discussion started and began to chuckle. "Your brother complained about this, didn't he?"

"He mentioned it, yes."

It wasn't much of a restructuring. New, more accurate titles were issued like labels for the roles the various commissioners played. The Commander was pleased that no one suggested he take a new title, and the Quartermaster outright refused to consider anything else. To the First Fleet, their titles were almost interchangeable with their names, and just as none of them would have changed their names, none of them wanted to change their titles no matter how outdated they were.

The wyverian quartermaster, the brother of the Research Master, was given the title of 'Analytics Director'. The Quartermaster had suggested it based on the nature of the work the man often took. For most people, titles didn't matter. They shared their roles with a number of other commissioners, and it was clunky and ridiculous to call someone "Hunter" when three other hunters might respond. Calling a commissioner by their title was a formality, a sign of respect for the higher ranked individuals, and a deeply ingrained habit.

For many of the newer commissioners, however, it was a must because they simply didn't know the names of the First Fleet members, and at that point they were too afraid to ask.